The Gentle Shepherd: A Pastoral Comedy Part 16

_Sym._ Or this day eight days likely he shall learn, That our denial disna slight his bairn.

_Glaud._ Well, nae mair o't,--come, gie's the other bend; We'll drink their healths, whatever way it end.

[_Their healths gae round._

_Sym._ But will ye tell me, Glaud,--by some 'tis said, Your niece is but a Fundling that was laid Down at your hallon-side, ae morn in May, Right clean row'd up, and bedded on dry hay?

_Glaud._ That clatteran Madge, my t.i.tty, tells sic flaws, When e'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws.

_Enter_ JENNY.

_Jen._ O father! there's an auld man on the green, The fellest fortune-teller e'er was seen: He tents our loofs, and syne whops out a book, Turns o'er the leaves, and gie's our brows a look; Syne tells the oddest tales that e'er ye heard.

His head is gray, and lang and gray his beard.

_Sym._ Gae bring him in; we'll hear what he can say: Nane shall gang hungry by my house to day.

[_Exit_ JENNY.

But for his telling fortunes, troth I fear, He kens nae mair of that than my gray mare.

_Glaud._ Spae-men! the truth of a' their saws I doubt; For greater liars never ran there out.

_Returns_ JENNY, _bringing in_ SIR WILLIAM; _with them_ PATIE.

_Sym._ Ye're welcome, honest carle;--here take a seat.

_Sir Will._ I give ye thanks, Goodman; I'se no be blate.

_Glaud._ [_drinks._] Come t'ye, friend:--How far came ye the day?

_Sir Will._ I pledge ye, nibour:--E'en but little way: Rousted with eild, a wee piece gate seems lang; Twa miles or three's the maist that I dow gang.

_Sym._ Ye're welcome here to stay all night with me, And take sic bed and board as we can gi' ye.

_Sir Will._ That's kind unsought.--Well, gin ye have a bairn That ye like well, and wad his fortune learn, I shall employ the farthest of my skill, To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill.

_Sym._ [_pointing to Patie._] Only that lad;--alake! I have nae mae, Either to make me joyful now, or wae.

_Sir Will._ Young man, let's see your hand;--what gars ye sneer?

_Pat._ Because your skill's but little worth I fear.

_Sir Will._ Ye cut before the point.--But, billy, bide, I'll wager there's a mouse mark on your side.

_Els._ Betooch-us-to! and well I wat that's true: Awa, awa! the deil's o'er grit wi' you.

Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark, Scarce ever seen since he first wore a sark.

_Sir Will._ I'll tell ye mair, if this young lad be spar'd But a short while, he'll be a braw rich laird.

_Els._ A laird! Hear ye, Goodman!--what think ye now?

_Sym._ I dinna ken: Strange auld man! What art thou?

Fair fa' your heart; 'tis good to bode of wealth: Come turn the timmer to laird Patie's health.

[PATIE'S _health gaes round_.

_Pat._ A laird of twa good whistles, and a kent, Twa curs, my trusty tenants, on the bent, Is all my great estate--and like to be: Sae, cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me.

_Sym._ Whisht, Patie,--let the man look o'er your hand, Aftimes as broken a ship has come to land.

[SIR WILLIAM _looks a little at_ PATIE'S _hand, then counterfeits falling into a trance, while they endeavour to lay him right_.]

_Els._ Preserve's!--the man's a warlock, or possest With some nae good,--or second sight, at least: Where is he now?----

_Glaud._ ----He's seeing a' that's done In ilka place, beneath or yont the moon.

_Els._ These second sighted fowk, his peace be here!

See things far aff, and things to come, as clear As I can see my thumb.--Wow, can he tell (Speer at him, soon as he comes to himsell) How soon we'll see Sir William? Whisht, he heaves, And speaks out broken words like ane that raves.

_Sym._ He'll soon grow better;--Elspa, haste ye, gae, And fill him up a ta.s.s of Usquebae.

_Sir_ WILLIAM _starts up, and speaks_.

A Knight that for a _Lyon_ fought, Against a herd of bears, Was to lang toil and trouble brought, In which some thousands shares.

But now again the _Lyon_ rares, And joy spreads o'er the plain: The _Lyon_ has defeat the bears, The Knight returns again.

That Knight, in a few days, shall bring A Shepherd frae the fauld, And shall present him to his King, A subject true and bauld.

He Mr. Patrick shall be call'd: All you that hear me now, May well believe what I have tald; For it shall happen true.

_Sym._ Friend, may your spaeing happen soon and weel; But, faith, I'm redd you've bargain'd with the deil, To tell some tales that fowks wad secret keep: Or do ye get them tald you in your sleep?

_Sir Will._ Howe'er I get them, never fash your beard; Nor come I to redd fortunes for reward: But I'll lay ten to ane with ony here, That all I prophesy shall soon appear.

_Sym._ You prophesying fowks are odd kind men!

They're here that ken, and here that disna ken, The wimpled meaning of your unco tale, Whilk soon will mak a noise o'er moor and dale.

_Glaud._ 'Tis nae sma' sport to hear how Sym believes, And takes't for gospel what the spae-man gives Of flawing fortunes, whilk he evens to Pate: But what we wish, we trow at ony rate.

_Sir Will._ Whisht, doubtfu' carle: for ere the sun Has driven twice down to the sea, What I have said ye shall see done In part, or nae mair credit me.

_Glaud._ Well, be't sae, friend, I shall say nathing mair; But I've twa sonsy la.s.ses young and fair, Plump ripe for men: I wish ye cou'd foresee Sic fortunes for them might prove joy to me.

_Sir Will._ Nae mair thro' secrets can I sift, Till darkness black the bent: I have but anes a day that gift; Sae rest a while content.

_Sym._ Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch b.u.t.t some meat, And, of your best, gar this auld stranger eat.